Let Me In
by Lavender Leo
Summary: After the team meets for dinner at Rossi's house, Emily doesn't want to go home. Prentiss/Rossi.


**Let Me In**

Tonight was turning out pretty well. Much better than Dave expected.

When Morgan first brought up the idea of a cooking lesson, it seemed a tad presumptuous. And between Garcia's idea of holding it at his house and Aaron's "tempered suggestion" that it would help repair the broken bonds between their team members, the older Italian felt unfairly trapped. But it had gone well, if he said so himself.

Now the others had gone home and a certain lovely lady was the only other person left in his house. Sleeves of her black blouse pushed back, Emily's field-weathered, nail-bitten hands were busy rinsing off plates so he could load the oversized dishwasher. Rossi eyed her fondly as she passed him a glass. There was a pleasant simplicity to this moment, watching the classic beauty with her ivory skin and silky black curtain of hair help him perform the mundane task.

_She could have any life she wanted_, he thought, not for the first time as he admired her in a series of subtle glances. _Daughter of an ambassador, socialite, wealthy, bewitchingly beautiful. She could do anything, go anywhere. But she chooses to be here, with us, doing this hell of a job._

He had his theories as to why. Oh, he knew it wasn't the one that would gratify his ego and his heart, although he'd yearned for that for longer than he cared to admit. The reason probably laid somewhere in her tangle of bad memories, from a childhood where love and understanding were in short supply. Life had taught Emily Prentiss not to have faith, in God or man, because both would let you down. That painful beginning set the course for her adult life. She'd been helpless; she became strong and resourceful. No one had come to save her; now she saved others every day. Her mother was aloof and political; Emily was caring and a straight-shooter who hated 'the game.' A boy got her pregnant when she was young and she had an abortion; she didn't date, and shied away from any talk of ever having her own family.

_You're not supposed to profile your teammates, Dave_, his conscience scolded, sounding very much like Hotch. But his intentions were good. He only wanted to help – assuming she had begun to learn that accepting help didn't make her weak.

Unconsciously, his fingers brushed hers as she handed him another dish; he hoped his shudder wasn't perceptible to her trained eye, or at least that she was tipsy enough from the wine not to notice.

"Is everything all right?" she spoke up while his back was turned to slide the plate between the prongs. "You seem awfully quiet for a man who was practically singing the praises of noodles two hours ago."

He looked around at her and managed a small smile. "I'm tired," Dave attempted. "At my age, the parties tend to wrap up fast enough for old codgers like me to hit the hay before dark."

"Please. You are _not_ old," she said drolly, rolling her eyes as she handed him the last plate.

"My birth certificate would beg to differ," he teased, "but my mama always told me never to argue with a lady."

"Wise woman," Emily praised. "Sounds like she gave you some good advice."

"Advice I'm just now applying, for your benefit. Three wives, I argued with and lost, every time." He turned on the dishwasher and rinsed his hands, then toweled them off and leaned against the counter.

"Your wives didn't have a badge and a gun," she pointed out with a smirk.

"Nope. They came armed with _lawyers_," Rossi quipped.

Prentiss chuckled. "So, three strikes and you're out, huh?"

Although he didn't mind the turn in conversation, Dave scoffed. "This from the woman who hasn't even gone to bat."

"Hey, I had a _very_ good reason for that."

"True enough," he allowed. Ian Doyle probably would have taken out any man in his path to get to the woman he'd known as Lauren Reynolds. "But seeing as that _reason_ is currently six feet under, there's nothing standing in your way now." He glanced down at his watch. "Not even ten. Plenty of time to snag some lucky buck before midnight."

Emily laughed. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Not at all. I'm trying to figure out why you're still here," Dave clarified.

His fellow agent feigned confusion. "I stayed to help you clean up."

"We _finished_ cleaning up." Rossi arched a thick eyebrow. "Nothing left to do here but hang out with little old me."

"You make that sound like a bad thing," Prentiss said, shaking her head. "Look, if you want me to go, I will, but I have no interest in going out and _snagging_ somebody. That's the last thing on my mind right now."

"Okay. Just a suggestion," Dave lightly retreated. "You finally have your life back. I'd be a bad friend if I said I didn't want to see you live it to the fullest."

"Rossi, you may be many things," she remarked, "but a bad friend is not one of them." She surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck.

"Whoa! Hey! What's all this?" he chortled, taken aback by her sudden display of affection. After a moment, he relaxed enough to hug her back. "Did my doctor call and tell you I've got six months to live?"

"That's not funny," Emily scolded, pulling out of his embrace.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I just… wasn't expecting that."

"I missed you," she muttered, as though it was an apology. "I mean, I missed everyone, but… I _really_ missed you."

"Emily?" Inside his chest, Dave's heart clenched. Was this a confession, or was this one of those emotional bonding moments women had with men they only considered friends? That one word, _'really,'_ had him on pins and needles. It seemed horribly ironic; married three times, dozens of relationships, a shameful number of casual lovers, and he still didn't know how to ask that most simple of questions. He waited, confused, for her to continue.

"I don't want to go out tonight," she reiterated, swinging her black curtain of hair back and forth to avoid his gaze. He knew that tactic; it was one she used when she felt vulnerable. "And much as I love my cat, I really don't want to go home either."

"Then stay," he offered gently. "I won't object to the company. I missed you, too, you know."

At that, Emily looked up at him gratefully.

Now, his heart was practically pounding in his ears. "Would you like some coffee?" he asked, feeling as though he was going to jump out of his skin if he didn't do something.

"That sounds great," she nodded, smiling as he set to work. "But strong, okay?"

"Is there any other way to make it?" Dave grinned, earning a rare giggle. He put a bit extra in the filter.

"Apparently, there are plenty of ways," she replied. "When I was in Paris, I would go to a different coffee shop almost every day, just to order plain black coffee. The baristas always looked so confused. 'No cream, no sugar, no _flavor_?' Nope. Didn't want any of that. I wanted BAU coffee. Reid's extra-strong brew, so thick it almost stands up and smacks you in the face."

Rossi laughed. "That junk he buys and barely converts to liquid form?"

"That's the stuff," she admitted sheepishly. "I came really close at this one little hole in the wall, and it was _so_ terrible, I almost had to hold my nose to drink it! But you know, that was the happiest I'd felt in months. Because when I drank that coffee and closed my eyes, just for a second, I could see all of you around me, smiling and telling me everything was going to be okay."

Dave looked up suddenly. Emily was worrying at her fingertips, visibly willing herself to keep them out of her mouth. A tear slipped down that porcelain cheek, followed by another. For the love of Mary, what he wouldn't have given to feel free to wipe those tears away! But he waited, and listened, and resisted the urge to draw her into his arms and let her cry her fill. It wasn't time. Not yet. And it _was_ all about timing.

"I started going there every day. I needed to remember, and I did – every word, every laugh, every minute I had with all of you," she went on, forcing a smile. "But you know what I remembered the most? That this wasn't the first time my past had come back to haunt me. The first time, you were there, and you had my back. You believed me when nobody else did, and you stayed with me and saw me through it. I don't think I ever told you how much that meant to me."

He remembered it well; a false 'exorcist' who tortured and murdered several young men, one her dearest friend from her teenage years. "I tried to call you more than once that night, to check on you," Rossi recalled aloud, remembering his sleepless night of worry. "You never picked up."

"I never heard it ring. I was out walking in the snow. I went to a church and stood outside the door. But I couldn't make myself go in." There were her eyes, locking with his own, so steely and so insecure at once. "The church never once helped me, and they never made me feel safe. But you did. For the first time in my life since Matthew, I knew that someone would be there for me, no matter what, no questions asked; someone who actually _cared_."

Dave pressed his lips together, determined to let her finish.

"I told myself, if I ever got back here," Prentiss continued, as solidly as she could, "one of the first things I would do, would be to tell you how grateful I am, that you were there for me when I needed someone to be."

"Always," he said, barely above a whisper. And he meant it with every fiber of his being. "Come here, you." This time he reached for her, and drew her against him. He held her, feeling her struggle against herself and him to be strong, but unable to walk away. _That's it, Em. Let me in_, he begged silently. _You know I'd rather take a bullet than hurt a single hair on your head. You don't even have to love me. Just let me in enough to love you_. "I do care," he told her softly, "and I'll always be here."

"But why?" she demanded, pulling back to look at his face; he allowed her that flexibility, but didn't release her waist. "Why do you care so much about me?"

"It's called love, Emily," Dave confessed after a moment, hoping to God that if she rejected him, she'd at least be gentle. "There is no _why_."

"You…" He could almost see the question mark hovering over her head. "You never told me," she finished at last, looking bewildered.

"You didn't seem interested," he exhaled sadly, letting her go.

Her jaw dropped, and her head tilted apologetically to one side. "Dave -"

"It's okay. Really. You don't have to give it another thought."

"No, this is something we should talk about. I - "

"Forget about it. Nothing to worry about." He turned to face the cabinets, so he could hide his look of disappointment. "I'll get you a mug. May as well take your coffee with you."

"Dammit, Rossi! Would you stop cutting me off?" the dark-haired woman cried, stomping her foot. "You didn't get any of that just now, did you?"

That got his attention; he whirled back around. "Any of _what_?"

Prentiss rolled her eyes as though he were a numbskull. "I've been standing here pouring my heart out to you! Did you think that didn't mean anything? Yes, I needed a second to process after you came out and said you love me, but only because I didn't _expect_ it, not because I didn't _want_ it!" she shouted. "And now you're trying to shoo me out the door with a mug of coffee, because I didn't react fast enough for you?"

Rather than infuriate him, her fiery challenge kicked Rossi's senses into overdrive. It took every bit restraint he had in him not to start stripping her down right then and there, and that didn't mean he wasn't considering it. "Hell, Emily, you could've meant anything!" he retorted, knowing he'd mistake his intensity for anger. "That I was your best friend, or like a father to you! How was I supposed to know you had feelings for me if you wouldn't say it?"

"Well, I would have said it if you'd given me half a chance!"

"You want a chance? _Here's_ your chance! Say it!" When she hesitated, he stepped towards her and grasped her arms. "Say it right now or take your coffee and go home to your cat!"

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "I told you, I don't _want_ to go home!" she snapped.

"Then _say_ it, Emily!" Dave demanded. "Last chance! Going once, going twice – "

"Damn you to hell, Rossi!" she burst. "_I love you! _There, are you satisfied?"

"No," he said grittily, "but by God, I will be."

With a passion he hadn't felt in at least twenty years, he brought his mouth down hard on hers, practically welding their bodies together. And his Emily – for she was surely his now, as he was totally and utterly hers – returned his fervor and then some, grabbing his ass with almost unfeminine aggression and forcing him closer. She took advantage of his momentary surprise at that move to slide her tongue into his mouth and dance it wickedly against his, like a preview of coming attractions. Already, she had his manhood straining painfully against his jeans, aching to be let loose.

"Not here," Dave drew back and groaned, "not the first time."

"Where?" was the immediate question.

Rossi grabbed her hand, that delicate nail-bitten hand, and all but dragged her through the living room, up the stairs and into the master bedroom. In his mind, he'd romanticized this moment, letting the fantasy play out slowly, sweetly. There was nothing slow and sweet about _this_, though. The woman so many people thought was a cold fish was, in actuality, a tigress, and she was attacking her prey now without mercy. Clothes were all but ripped off, she was pressing him down underneath her hard body, and the only soft touch was that of her silken hair tickling a trail behind the kisses she was leaving down his chest.

"I never thought I'd see you again," she explained breathlessly between licks, "never thought I'd get to do this."

Dave's eyes rolled back as she took him in her mouth. Was Saint Peter at the pearly gates holding his clipboard? Because doing what she was doing between those lips of hers, it sure felt like she was about to send him there. "Em," he begged, knowing when he was beaten, "please."

She understood, and sat up to breathe. After a moment's relief, she sent him over the moon again, climbing astride him and easing down until they were one. "You okay?" she murmured when his eyes clenched shut.

"You're killing me," he said helplessly, brushing his lips against hers when she leaned down for a kiss.

"Oh, I think you'll live," she teased, circling her hips to grind against him.

"I'm not so sure about that. But this is how I'd want to go." Not content to let her have the upper hand, he flipped them over after a few minutes and leveled the playing field. "God, you feel good," he said huskily, increasing his pace, shuddering as she shifted up to meet his thrusts.

"So do you," Emily moaned. "But you're holding back. Don't."

"You're sure?" _Well, if that's what the lady wants. _He was glad he kept up his exercise for the field, or there'd be no keeping up with her. He made a mental note to get to the gym more often. "Okay. You asked." He slipped her legs up over his shoulders and gave it all he had left. Below him, his dark-haired angel screwed up her face and gritted her teeth. He knew why; he was fairly blessed anatomically, and he liked to think she was enjoying that. Now her eyes were wide, her mouth open. _That's it, cara mia_, he thought happily. _Just a little more_.

"Oh my God, Dave!" she cried, arching up suddenly.

"Emily!" He collapsed into her, worn out, and enjoyed the feel of her arms closing around him. They lay there for a while, still. "I am _so_ glad you didn't want to go home tonight," he whispered lovingly.

"I'm glad you finally said something," she replied, kissing the top of his head.

"I wanted to. I was waiting," Dave told her.

"Waiting for what?"

"For you to let me in."

*LL*

_DISCLAIMER: I don't own Criminal Minds or anything related to it. Come on now – if I did, it would look way more like a soap opera! hahaha_


End file.
